He lit this with a luxurious slowness, and then, stretched out on his pallet, smoked himself into paradise. What rosy dreams were Li's! He would be a mandarin of the green button, his ancestors would be ennobled, he might become an Amban! "To-mollow," he murmured to himself; but to-morrow never came to Li on earth. Li dreamed on, sunk in lethargy, and finally fell into profound sleep, and the lamp burned low. When he awoke again it was with the consciousness of physical pain, and behold! the lamp was burning brightly in the room. Two men were seated beside the light, and spread out on the floor were the jewels the little box contained. The men were arranging them in little heaps, counting them carefully. Li made a frantic effort to call out, but he was gagged. Then he rolled over toward the men, and the light of despair was in his eyes. "Keep him quiet, Moung Sen," said one of the two, and the taller man held his sharp _dah_ over Li, who crouched still, making no effort to move. The other finished his counting, and then swept the jewels into a bag. Then he turned savagely on the Chinaman. "Beast!" he said, "and you were going away with the earnings of honest men!" Then, changing his voice: "What! and you wouldn't even come and say good-bye to an old friend--to poor old Father Fragrance! It was very wrong of you, Li Fong, very wrong." Moung Sen here pricked Li with the _dah_, and a shiver went over the limbs of the bound man. Bah Hmoay then spoke again. "To think that you can't even speak, Li Fong, that your wicked mouth is gagged, and that all my money--_our_ money," and he pointed to Moung Sen, "has come back to its rightful owners, and some more besides! Li Fong, you were going a far journey with all that wealth. You will now go a farther journey, where wealth will no longer avail you--where the gems of the world are useless. Li Fong, you are going to die!" If eyes could have spoken there would have been a piteous appeal for mercy, but being merely eyes they could only look words, not speak them. * * * * * "I never knew a more atrocious thing in my life," said Phipson to his chief. "We found the poor devil with his throat slit from ear to ear, and on the wall of the room, scratched in charcoal, the respectful compliments of Bah Hmoay to you. Confound the brute! I'd give ten years of my life to see him swinging at the end of a rope!" Jackson rose from his chair and slowly paced the room. After six months of absolute quiet he had begun to think that the dacoit had disappeared with the destruction of his gang, when here came a fresh atrocity--an atrocity out-Heroding the others. It was too bad, and yet, after all, in his heart Jackson could not help admiring the daring of the man. "By Jove!" he said, "that fellow should be bottled and kept as a curiosity. Had he lived a hundred years ago, he would have died a prince." "He'll die very high up," grunted Phipson.